


Pirouette

by JʼLi (kibigo)



Series: Vanguard [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Immediately after Timeskip, Loss of Control, Oral, Passion separated by Space, Pirouette, Porn with Feelings, Smut, getting caught
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 01:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20538053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibigo/pseuds/J%CA%BCLi
Summary: The love was the problem, and Edelgard knew that, and she told Dorothea. “See,” she had remarked dryly. “This is why I told you any dalliances between the two of us would have to wait untilafterthe war.”“I take it you still havenʼt spoken to her, then?” Dorothea asked.“As if having thebothof us distracted would somehow make things better,” she replied.She settled for Professor look‑alikes, late at night.





	Pirouette

**Author's Note:**

> I wasnʼt planning on making a whole Thing out of this but whoops here we go.

Her teacher came back.

Against all odds—and with hardly an explanation. On that fated night—that of the Millennium Festival, not that any of them had planned on celebrating—not before their Professor had strode into town. Edelgard found herself full of words, questions, stories, and with nary a linguistic faculty to express them. She tried her best to remain composed. She tried her best to pretend—everything was alright.

Everything would be alright.

The Professor assured her so. She looked the same as she always had—like she had not aged a day. Edelgard wondered if it was true—she had heard similar stories about Jeralt, the Professorʼs late father. Was it something in their blood—their Crests, perhaps? Or was it, in the Professorʼs case, simply a consequence of her disappearance? She certainly didnʼt seem to remember anything from that time.

Edelgard could hardly claim to have a perfect memory regarding the past five years, as well.

But unlike the Professor, where her memories failed her, her emotions knew no excess. She envied her—was Edelgard the older one now? That was a frightening thought—_differently‑aged_ companion, the lightness with which she stepped, the ease of her rare smile. It was a little cute, a little naïve, and so sorely needed amongst their numbers.

When she had arrived—after countless hugs and tears and broken explanations—what had she done?

“I know itʼs a bit of a faux pas,” the Professor said, holding out her hand, “considering we are currently at war with the Church. But—it _is_ still the Millennium Festival. Would you care to dance?”

It wasnʼt exactly befitting of her station, but Edelgard could hardly say no.

* * *

And dance they had, around each other, for the entirety of the following month.

In a way, Edelgard felt more lost than ever.

She had always had a Plan—perhaps not the best one, but a vision, five years in the making, of how things would turn out. And, despite how badly she had wished it otherwise, she now realized that her Plan… she had never dared afford to write the Professor into it. Now that the Professor was here—the universe had once again reminded Edelgard that she was not the master of her own fate.

Perhaps it would be a good thing? She laughed to herself, as though her life had ever held such a thing as a pleasant surprise.

Well, it had, that one time, in the Holy Tomb.

So, they danced around each other, when they werenʼt at each otherʼs throats. Edelgard was not half the tactician that her mentor was, and she was thankful to relinquish the role—but not the control that went along with it, not exactly. The assignment of battalions, the overseeing of equipment, the micro‑managing of each personʼs outfit —:It was this attention to detail which made the Professor so good at what she did. But—and she realized this was only a product of her own failings as a strategist; intellectually, she knew that—it frequently differed from what Edelgard had imagined would be done.

For a woman whose entire life revolved around her own imaginings—for a party which had done nothing but support and enable that vision for the past five years—at the very least, beïng reminded of her failings stung.

And by one she so dearly loved.

The love was the problem, and Edelgard knew that, and she told Dorothea. “See,” she had remarked dryly. “This is why I told you any dalliances between the two of us would have to wait until _after_ the war.”

“I take it you still havenʼt spoken to her, then?” Dorothea asked.

“As if having the _both_ of us distracted would somehow make things better,” she replied.

She settled for Professor look‑alikes, late at night.

* * *

Night had long fallen when the Professor finally made her evening rounds. Most everybody else was asleep. Linhardt—certainly. Caspar, snoring; Bernadetta—perhaps sneaking out for a late‑night snack. Hubert, no doubt in some manner of light repose, perpetually at the ready should his Emperor have need of him. And Edelgard—

There were moans coming from Edelgardʼs room.

Her back was pressed to the heavy wooden door, her naked rear on the ground, having slid there some moments before. Her legs were spread, and there was a woman between them, their dark hair tickling across Edelgardʼs chest as their lips and teeth made their mark upon her surface. And, of course, their hands were quite busy somewhere else.

Edelgard could feel the pressure mounting inside her—it was almost routine, now, but not quite; never quite, and never quite what she hoped. But close enough. Certainly, in the moment, close enough. Close as she was, now.

But before she could come, a knock sounded against the door, and the pair froze. The vibrations reverberated down Edelgardʼs spine, and she suddenly felt… very _secular_, pressed against the grain as she was.

Then a voice: “Edelgard? Are you okay in there?”

Edelgard would have liked to think that a woman as experienced as herself would not still be so easily flustered. But, alas, and it _was_ the professor. “Donʼt come in! Iʼm quite alright!” she called back, running her fingers gently through her companionʼs hair. For… comfort? The instinct surprised her. Was she really so anxious as to—

“If youʼre having nightmares again, you know you can talk with me about it,” the Professor said, concern evident in her voice. Edelgard exhaled quietly. Thankfully—if she _was_ thankful?—the Professor seemed to have misread the impetus of her exclamations entirely.

“Yes, I just—” she let her fingers trace down the spine of her companion, and they, never the patient sort, began slowly tracing circles around her clit, fingers still pressed inside her—careful with her movements, not making a sound. And there was something relieving in the motion, something intimately _okay_ about it, beïng touched so tenderly there. Edelgard felt her whole body sigh, felt the floorboards beneath her, the woman between her knees, the polished wooden door—she pressed her cheek to it. When the Professor spoke, she felt the vibrations it carried, of her voice, of her hand against the pane—and she closed her eyes and bit her lips as her abs shook, and she held back another moan.

“I… promise Iʼm fine,” the Emperor said. “Please get some rest.”

The pressure against the door abated, and she heard the Professor step away. “…Okay, then,” her teacher said. “But my door is always open—if you need anything. Please donʼt hesitate to come by.”

Edelgard convulsed again—and she failed to suppress the scream that overtook her as she orgasmed, there, before her Professor could walk away. But if her teacher heard it—there was no response. And she was alone, naked, her companion at her side.

And there was something wrong about it, but also something alright.

* * *

And the fight for the Great Bridge of Myrddin was upon them.

And Edelgard was reminded, every day, as they marched and strategized together and made camp, as she watched through her icy exterior at the Professorʼs uncanny ability to bring everyone together, to make them smile whilst only hardly betraying one of her own—a skill Edelgard wished she had for herself. But then—it wasnʼt like she needed it, so long as the Professor was here. So long as they could continue complementing each other.

Not that they had done a remarkable job of that so far.

Edelgard was reminded of an old fantasy, of her and the Professor working side‑by‑side, united, not a secret between them. It had been obviously untenable at the time. Her school life at Garreg Mach had been _predicated_ on secrecy—and then the Professor had disappeared. What was keeping them apart now?

“You look worried,” the Professor said, approaching. Edelgard looked more than that—her brow was furrowed intensely, and her lips in something of a scowl. But the expression left as soon as it came.

“Just… uncertain of something,” Edelgard replied, with a tight smile. “Nothing of present concern.”

“How unlike you,” the Professor teased, “to be uncertain”—and of course she was right.

It _was_ unlike her—to waffle so much in her sensibilities, to doubt her choices and convictions so. And, it was exhausting. It was foolish of her to allow her relationship with the Professor—one which was supposed to make her job _easier_, after all—so burden her, and, deep down, there was a part of her which recognized that this was a situation of her own design.

Another strategic failure, perhaps. Her fears aside, this arrangement wasnʼt one which would last the war.

“Perhaps we can talk about it,” Edelgard said, trying and mostly failing to keep her voice nonchalant. “After we emerge victorious on the morrow.”

“Iʼll write it into my schedule,” the Professor winked. Edelgard could only shake her head and smile, as she knew this was no figurative gesture. She had _seen_ the aforementioned schedule, and lords.

Lords. She really was a hopeless bisexual.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Pirouette by MADE IN HEIGHTS](https://madeinheights.bandcamp.com/track/pirouette-2).
>
>> Love is sweet, and it calls you again,  
To bring you back, from where youʼve been;  
Now I see, perfectly, through all the fear,  
What I needed the most was you here.  

> 
> Yeah, Edelgard needs to listen to Without My Enemy What Would I Do, too.


End file.
